The Best I Could (33 page)

“That’s great, Mr Marshall, that you like to serve your country but it’s also true that Mr Rajaratnam is also your boss. You shouldn’t get upset about that,” I persisted. At that time, S Rajaratnam, a pioneer founding leader in the ruling PAP, was Singapore’s foreign minister. David Marshall remained silent.

Years later, I had a call from Harry Elias. I had not joined his firm yet, but he telephoned to invite me to a dinner that he was hosting for David Marshall who was back in Singapore to celebrate his 80th birthday. He had asked that I be invited and I was quite happy to attend. The dinner was held at La Brasserie at the Marco Polo Hotel. I met quite a few of my good friends that evening, about 20 of them. When David Marshall saw me, we exchanged greetings. He said, “How are you, my lad? I hear good things about you.” I thanked him and gave him my contact details because he said he wanted to invite me for his birthday party. We all sat down to dinner.

The dinner conversation was surprising. David Marshall was very sarcastic, very critical of the government and the ministers. He even cracked political jokes. I felt that what he said could be considered derogatory. I was feeling uncomfortable and uptight. It was not because I loved the government or the ministers. I just could not accept any criticism of them from an ambassador. How could he be talking about his leaders in this manner? I remained silent. I could sense some others were also feeling a little uneasy.

It came to a stage when he said, “Come on, we’re all here. We’re all Singaporeans. Tell me who has the guts to take the PAP on? Put your hands up.” There was no show of hands.

I said, “Mr Marshall, you did not put your hand up. So what’s your complaint? What’s your beef?”

He responded, “My lad, I can’t put my hand up. I’m going blind and I can’t even read documents. So how can I oppose the PAP?”

“If you can do an ambassador’s job when you’re going blind, you can lead the opposition because there are enough people who would gladly be your eyes,” I replied. “There’ll be enough opposition support for you. You don’t raise your hand but you expect us to do so?”

Most of the people at the table agreed with me. I think David Marshall felt a little awkward and did not comment further. It was a good dinner other than that embarrassing moment.

The next day I had a call from Teo Soh Lung, a practising lawyer and friend. She said she had had breakfast with David Marshall and he was practically on the verge of tears, and had commented that I was very insulting at the dinner. I explained to her what had transpired at the dinner. She understood that I did not have any ill intentions when I pointed out that Mr Marshall did not raise his hand too. I told her that it was up to him if he wanted to read anything into that statement. I did not go out of my way to be unpleasant to him. She remarked that he could be sensitive to what I had said. Whatever it was, I did not receive an invitation to his birthday celebrations. I suppose that was fair enough.

David Marshall was a very good lawyer, there’s no doubt about that. The best of his time, I felt. He could get acquittals quite easily because the jury system was still in place. If you’re eloquent and dramatic enough, you can sway a jury to your point of view. The next thing you know, the jury has come to a verdict in your client’s favour. The poor judge can only sit there looking and feeling helpless knowing that the accused was guilty based on the evidence and the law. The judge’s hands are tied and there is nothing he could do.

If David Marshall had practised after the jury system was abolished, he would be in the same position as we, the defence counsels, are in now. He would also be very fortunate to get some acquittals. Why was the jury system abolished? I believe one of the factors could have been that he was getting too many acquittals. I think it was becoming quite apparent to the government that the jury system was not a fair system because decisions were made through emotions and not on facts and law.

The last case Singapore had under a jury was that of the Public Prosecutor vs Freddie Tan. Freddie was accused of the murder of his friend, Gene Koh, whose father was a big contractor in the public works sector. He had befriended Gene since their days in London. When they were back in Singapore, he kidnapped Gene and murdered him. David Marshall was holding a watching brief for the family of the deceased. Another well-known criminal lawyer, S K Lee, was defending Freddie Tan. The presiding judge was Justice Choor Singh. When the prosecution and the defence had made their case, S K Lee was able to convince the jury, among other arguments, that it was not murder but culpable homicide because of diminished responsibility. The jury agreed with the defence that Freddie Tan was guilty of culpable homicide and not murder. The judge sentenced Freddie to life imprisonment. We were told that when Justice Choor Singh was asked what had happened, he had to say that his hands were tied as the jury had found the accused guilty of culpable homicide. So, he did the next best thing and sent him in for life.

Strangely enough, in 1976 when I was sent to the psychiatric ward of Changi Prison, I met Freddie Tan. He came to see me, having heard that I was there. He was serving out his life sentence. He wore a green ribbon on his uniform. He said that it allowed him to move around the prison freely with no restrictions. The wardens gave him a lot of freedom and he could choose to visit me with cigarettes whenever he felt like it. Looking at him, you would never know that he had killed somebody and that he had narrowly escaped the death sentence. He was cheerful and looked strong as he said he had been working out.

Freddie Tan’s case was the last held with a jury. The law was amended thereafter and it was determined that all capital cases—cases where the death sentence is mandatory—would be heard by two judges, who would decide based on facts and the law. After some time, it was decided that there was no need for two judges to hear capital cases. For many years now, a single judge hears such cases. It was a gradual process—from the jury being abolished to the setting up of a two-judge court and finally to a single judge hearing capital cases. Let us hope that one day we will not reach the situation where capital cases will be heard in the Subordinate Courts. Looking at the calibre of some of the judges there, that would be a real tragedy.

I will end this book by going back full circle to my early days in Naval Base. But before I do that, I would like to relate an episode in my life that has affected me greatly. I think it’s important that I tell you this story because it always reminds me to keep my promises. It also reminds me of the intrinsic goodness in people. You just have to show that you care and people will respond in ways that pleasantly surprise you.

I think I was in my third or final year at university. Before heading for classes in the morning, I would drive my elder sister to the Singapore General Hospital where she was a houseman. I would then head to the university canteen and have my breakfast of usually coffee and toast. I had different groups of friends at university. One of the groups I used to move around with consisted of Sunny Chew, who was at one time president of the Socialist Club; Conrad Raj, who is today a well-known journalist; Francis Yeo, a business administration graduate; Sim Yong Chan, the present vice-president of the Association of Criminal Lawyers of Singapore; and Linda Neo, a very close and dear friend with whom I still keep in touch. She now lives in Germany where she has settled down with a German doctor. There were other ladies in the group like food columnist Violet Oon; Laura Tan, who really wasn’t part of the core group but used to hang around us; and also Jill, Sue and Ruth Kuok, the daughters of the Malaysian sugar magnate, Robert Kuok.

Sunny Chew had this wild idea of making money from the Turf Club. He said that he studied the horses and knew how to read the tracks and that we could make a lot of money betting on the horses. My friends would go to the Turf Club on weekends but I seldom joined them as Saturday was football day and Sunday was “stay-at-home” day for me.

One Saturday, after collecting my sister’s salary from her, I went to the Union House and met my friends. There was an excited discussion among the group about the race day. Sunny Chew said he had picked some sure winners and they were going to the Turf Club that afternoon. They persuaded me to join them. I agreed and went with them, still holding on to my sister’s salary. I also had with me my university fees which I was supposed to pay.

At the Turf Club, off Dunearn Road in those days, we started betting. Sunny Chew had this habit of changing his mind at the last minute, saying that even though his research showed a particular horse should win, his instinct told him that another horse would be the one to win. Laura never followed Sunny’s tips. Instead, she relied on her grandmother, who would give her one or two tips. She would share the tips with us but we did not take her seriously because we thought Sunny was the expert. We should have known better because every time they attended the races, Sunny would lose and Laura would make some money. It was no different that day.

With each bet, we slowly lost more of our money. I lost the money for my fees and finally, in desperation, with my friends urging me on with “sure bet, sure bet”, I lost my sister’s salary too. I was miserable and in my frustration, shouted out loud at Sunny and Conrad, “What the hell!” I could always delay paying the fees as good old Reginald Quahe, deputy vice-chancellor at the university, was always sympathetic to sad stories. But my sister’s salary of $650—it had to be given to my mother as she was expecting it. “What am I going to do?” I exclaimed. It was too late to borrow money from anyone. My friends tried to calm me by saying that they would try to recover some of the losses on Monday by borrowing from other friends. They told me that somehow I had to bear with it the best I could.

It was easier said than done for them and I wondered what I was going to tell my mother. Out of desperation, I drove my car to one of those places where regular people would not go, as it was infested with triad members. I knew a few of the members, having grown up with them. I went into a den, found some of them building up their bodies with weights, and asked, “Where’s the boss?” I was told that he was in one of the rooms and I proceeded to enter.

A game of mahjong was being played, and I stood and watched for a while before the boss spoke to me: “I’ve not seen you for a long time. How are your studies? What made you come here?”

I replied that I needed to talk with him.

We went into one of the inner chambers and he asked, “What’s wrong? You look worried? What’s happening?” I explained that I needed money to buy some textbooks and added that I would be able to return the loan later. He told me that even though he was illiterate, he was well aware that it was not the time of year to buy books. Besides, I was asking for quite a lot of money, almost $1,000. I had thought that since I was asking for an amount equivalent to my sister’s salary, I might as well ask for my university fees too. I tried to convince him that I would be able to return the loan in a few months time.

Somewhat affectionately he asked me: “
Keling kiah
, are you telling me the truth? Don’t bluff me. I hate it when people bluff me. Tell me what happened. Why do you really need the money?”

I looked at him sheepishly and decided that it was better to come clean. “I went to the Turf Club today with my friends. My friend thought it was a sure bet and I betted my sister’s salary and my university fees. I lost everything. I have to go home now and my mother is waiting for my sister’s salary to pay for household expenses as my father’s salary is not enough.”

He was shocked that I had gone to the Turf Club and reprimanded me. “You gambled with money that didn’t belong to you! What are you trying to do? You’re already showing signs that you can be irresponsible with other people’s money. Tomorrow you will be a lawyer. Then what will you do? Take other people’s money and gamble it away in the Turf Club? Pay it back and take more money to gamble again?”

He went on. “Your parents are so proud that you’re going to be a lawyer. We too are proud that you’re going to be a lawyer and this is what you do. You’re such a disappointing bastard. Actually I don’t know why I should be talking to you. I should just kick you out of this place.”

I just kept quiet. Feeling miserable and remorseful, I asked him softly: “Are you going to help me?”

After calling me all sorts of undesirable names, he said: “Well, what has happened, has happened.” He opened a drawer and took out $1,000 and gave it to me. He said: “This should cover your sister’s salary and your fees. Let me say one thing. This money is not given to you for nothing. You promise me today, give me your word that you will never ever return to the Turf Club and do what you did today.” I made the promise on the spot.

He added: “You’d better keep your promise, Subhas. You see, I’m going to tell our people in the Turf Club to look out for you. If you’re there, they are going to pick you up and throw you out and I will definitely not interfere. So, you’d better not go.”

I assured him. “I’ve promised you that I will not go. So I will not.”

As I was walking away, he called me back, put his arms on my shoulders, gave me a hug and said: “Don’t get angry with me for being so tough on you just now but I’m worried. You’re the hope of so many people. I hope you realise that.”

I nodded. “Yes, I realise that. I realise what a fool I’ve been. I’ll keep my promise.”

He then went back to the same drawer, took out another $500 and shoved it into my pocket. “Take your girlfriend out for dinner. Do what you like but don’t gamble.” I thanked him. He ruffled my hair like an uncle would and walked me to my car.

That was in 1968. Ever since that day, I have not stepped into the Turf Club. My friends have invited me, especially Harry Elias, who is a member of the committee at the Turf Club, and Edward D’Souza, who is a steward. I’ve also been invited by the chairman, Herman Hochstadt, but I have always made excuses to avoid going there.